


Thankful

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:17:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: Lucia knocked briskly on the apartment door and barely had time to step back before Det. Carisi flung the door open, smiling at her. “Mrs. Barba,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.”“Please, Detective, call me Lucia,” she told him.“Only if you’ll call me Sonny,” Sonny returned, with a dimpled smile.It was the same conversation they had shared each of the previous times they had met, but Lucia sensed something more than pleasantries behind Sonny’s smile, his expression seeming tight, almost strained. And, of course, she couldn’t miss the fact that her son hung back, hands in his pockets, his own expression far too carefully controlled for her liking.Her eyes narrowed.Something had happened before her arrival.





	Thankful

**Author's Note:**

> It's just good ol' fashioned Thanksgiving fluff, y'all.
> 
> A Thanksgiving gift from me to all of you, as thanks for being a part of this fandom and for making my life infinitely more wonderful over the past several months.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Lucia knocked briskly on the apartment door and barely had time to step back before Det. Carisi flung the door open, smiling at her. “Mrs. Barba,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Please, Detective, call me Lucia,” she told him, just as she had each of the handful of times they had met. Rafael had waited until what Lucia was certain was the last possible moment to introduce her to the detective, which had left Lucia wary. Not of the sweet man her son had chosen to date, but of Rafael’s intentions. She had the feeling he had waited so long because he was in this for good, and her caution was borne of not wanting to ruin that for him.

Not when she had waited so long for him to find _someone_.

“Only if you’ll call me Sonny,” Sonny returned, with a dimpled smile.

It was the same conversation they had shared each of the previous times they had met, but Lucia sensed something more than pleasantries behind Sonny’s smile, his expression seeming tight, almost strained. And, of course, she couldn’t miss the fact that her son hung back, hands in his pockets, his own expression far too carefully controlled for her liking.

Her eyes narrowed.

Something had happened before her arrival. Something that left Sonny’s shoulders tense and a muscle working in her son’s jaw.

Nerves, perhaps? she wondered as she shrugged off her coat, Sonny instantly offering, “May I take your coat, Lucia?” While she had met Sonny a few times before, this was certainly the longest amount of time they were spending together, and she wouldn’t blame him for being nervous.

Rafael was a force of nature, as Sonny undoubtedly knew. And Lucia was even moreso.

Never one to beat around the bush, she patted Sonny’s arm soothingly as she told him, “Sonny, you seem nervous, and if it’s because of me, let me assure you, you have no need to be. I could never disapprove of someone my son loves so much.”

Though Sonny brightened slightly at that, it was short-lived, as he managed a light chuckle while also avoiding her gaze. “Oh, I’m not nervous,” he told her, with far too hearty a laugh to be genuine. “I’ve been assured from my very first girlfriend when I was twelve that I’m exactly the kind of guy parents love.”

Lucia laughed brightly at that. “Well, you’re not wrong,” she said, looking over at Rafael, who was still hovering almost nervously in the background. “Rafi, on the other hand...Lauren Sullivan’s parents threatened to shoot you on sight, no?”

Rafael rolled his eyes, and Sonny huffed a laugh, but Lucia sensed that there was no actual humor there, and she pursed her lips as she looked at Sonny. “Well, in any case, if it’s dinner you’re worried about, you most certainly don’t need to worry. Rafael assures me you're an excellent cook, and besides, us Barbas have not celebrated Thanksgiving in, what, three years, Rafi?”

“Something like that, anyway,” Rafael muttered, coming forward for the first time to also kiss her cheek, though he followed it with a warning, “But Mami, perhaps that’s enough of twenty questions, no?”

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say, as Sonny tensed before excusing himself with a smooth, “Excuse me, I need to baste the turkey,” and disappearing into the kitchen.

“Mijo, need I ask what’s going on with you and your Soleado?” Lucia asked, as soon as Sonny was out of earshot.

Rafael rolled his eyes again. “It’s nothing,” he said dismissively, and when Lucia just raised an eyebrow, he sighed before reluctantly telling her, “We had a bit of a fight this morning.”

“A fight?” Lucia repeated, surprised. “On Thanksgiving?”

“Well, more like a tiff,” Rafael admitted uncomfortably, and Lucia’s brow furrowed.

She was about to respond when Sonny reemerged from the kitchen, a tray of cudités in hand. “Appetizers?” he offered.

While Lucia smiled and took a helping from the proffered tray, she couldn’t help but ask, with all the tact of a Barba, “Rafael says that you two had a fight?”

Sonny threw Rafael a particularly nasty look, and Rafael went red before protesting weakly, “Mother!”

“It’s nothing,” Sonny told Lucia with a forced smile. “A...misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?” Lucia repeated, curiosity clearly piqued, ignoring her son’s increasingly ridiculous attempts to silence her. “What about?”

“How particularly _un_ grateful your son can be on Thanksgiving, of all holidays,” Sonny grumbled, and it was Rafael’s turn to give him a dirty look.

“I thought we had agreed to table this conversation until tomorrow,” he said warningly. “Especially seeing as how it was you who were so concerned about being the perfect host....”

Rafael trailed off and Sonny glared at him. Lucia looked back and forth between them before suggesting lightly, “So, who wants wine?”

After a particularly tense moment, Rafael shrugged and headed into the kitchen to open a bottle, and in the interim, Lucia grabbed Sonny’s arm and tugged him into the living room. “Soleado,” she said warmly, “what could you possibly be fighting with Rafi about?”

Sonny sighed, his shoulders slumping out of the defensive stance they had held all morning. “I may have overreacted,” he admitted. “I wanted everything to be perfect today because, you know, Raf loves you and you deserve perfection—” Lucia couldn’t help but preen. “—so, anyway, I know that the last time you and Raf celebrated Thanksgiving, your ma was still alive.”

Lucia swallowed, hard, an unexpected gesture at the emotion that welled within her. “Yes, we haven’t celebrated since,” she murmured.

“Right, so in honor of that, I wanted to make Cuban Boniatillo in honor of your ma,” Sonny said earnestly, and Lucia closed her eyes at the memory of the Cuban sweet potato pudding her mother used to make for her, not confined to a particular holiday but nonetheless tied intimately to fall and the holidays found there.

It took her a moment to find the words to respond. “For the life of me, I cannot imagine what Rafael could possibly have found to disagree with in that.”

Sonny sighed and again admitted, “I might have overreacted.” His expression darkened. “I bought the wrong kind of potatoes,” he mumbled. “I bought sweet potatoes, not…”

“Boniatos,” Lucia supplied gently, naming the type of sweet potato native to the Caribbean Islands. The type of sweet potato not readily available in the average grocery store frequented by an Italian-American detective living on the Upper East Side with his Cuban partner.

Sonny nodded. “Right, boniatos,” he pronounced in his horrible Staten Island accent. “And when I told Rafael what I was planning on making this morning, his first reaction was to tell me that I bought the wrong kind of potatoes.”

Lucia started to smile, especially since Sonny sounded personally offended by Rafael’s reaction. “Ah, Soleado,” she said, reaching up to pat his cheek, “Rafael has never quite understood the concept that it’s the thought that counts. Not when he gets to have the last word instead.”

“You coulda fooled me,” Sonny muttered sarcastically, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Rafael? Get the last word? _Never._ ”

Lucia laughed at that. “I don't know how you put up with it,” she teased. “Have you won an argument since you started dating?”

Sonny rolled his eyes. “Please, I hadn't won an argument with him for two years before that,” he scoffed, but his expression turned fond. “He's a…”

He trailed off, and Lucia patted his arm. “A stubborn jackass?” she supplied.

Sonny laughed. “Something like that.”

“But you love him anyway.”

Lucia didn't say it like a question, but she still wanted to verify. She loved her son more than anything in this life, but she knew he could be difficult, and temperamental, and had killed more relationships than she thought possible by that fact alone.

But Sonny just smiled and shook his head. “God knows I do,” he said. “And some days, only He knows why.”

“I imagine today is one of those days,” Lucia said, her tone turning brisk. “Well, the good news is, now that I know what you two are bickering about, it ought to be very easy for me to put this little argument to bed.”

Sonny gave her a wide-eyed look, but before he could say anything, Rafael returned, carefully carrying three glasses of wine. Lucia snagged hers first and held it up before Sonny could slip back to the kitchen. “A toast,” she said brightly. “To family. It’s just been Rafael and I for too long, and Sonny, I could not be happier to be sharing this holiday with you and to having you as a part of our family. No matter how much we may bicker and fight, at the end of the day, family and our love for each other is what matters, and what we should always be thankful for.”

“To family,” Sonny echoed softly, his expression unreadable as he clinked his glass against hers and Rafael’s before finally disappearing into the kitchen.

Rafael stared after him before turning to give his mother a look. “To family,” he said, touching his glass against hers and taking a long sip. “Dare I ask what that little speech was about?”

Lucia smiled sweetly at him. “Just a reminder of what this holiday is really about,” she said. Though Rafael nodded, his eyes slid back toward the door to the kitchen and Lucia sighed. “Go, “ she said. “Talk to him. Apologize.”

Rafael looked back at her, startled. “I don’t think I have anything—” he started, with no real heat, but Lucia cut him off.

“Rafael Enrique Antonio Barba, are you honestly going to stand here in front of your own mother and _lie_ when you could save yourself both the time and breath by just going and apologizing to that sweet man who was just trying to do something special for us?”

Lucia said the words as calmly as she could, but Rafael flinched at the use of his full name, though to his credit stared determinedly at her for the remainder of her scolding. “In my defense,” he said, once she was finished, “he did buy the wrong kind of potatoes.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucia reached up to pat his cheek. “Time and place, mijo,” she sighed. “Time and place. Now go.”

“Fine,” Rafael said, a touch sullenly, and he took another swig of wine before heading into the kitchen.

For a moment, Lucia almost held her breath, worried that there might be shouting or any of the surefire signs of a fight in the Barba household that she remembered. But then she shook her head and mentally chided herself. Rafael was not his father, had never been like him, and even a fool could see how much Rafael loved Sonny.

Enough to even put his need for the last word aside and apologize.

Carefully, she made her way to the doorway of the kitchen and peeked in, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face at the sight within.

Sonny was backed against the kitchen counter, Rafael in front of him, his hands resting lightly on Sonny’s hips as he kissed him, soft and sweet. The kitchen timer dinged but neither man moved, though after a moment, Sonny laughed. “I have to get the turkey,” he protested.

“Screw the turkey,” Rafael said, kissing him again.

Though Sonny laughed once more, he gently pushed Rafael aside and moved over to the oven. “You won't be saying that when the turkey’s dry and the only thing worth eating is the Boniatillo.”

“The very delicious and entirely authentic Boniatillo,” Rafael said loyally, and when Sonny gave him a look, he chuckled. “Too much?”

Sonny just sighed and kissed his cheek. “Go set the table,” he ordered.

Lucia ducked away from the kitchen before either man could see her, but she was still smiling when Rafael emerged with a handful of silverware. “What’re you smiling at?” he asked as he went to set the table.

“Nothing,” she told him. “I’m just happy for you.”

Rafael’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

While Rafael took her wine glass for a refill, Sonny came out of the kitchen with the first of the Thanksgiving dishes. “Please, let me help,” Lucia said, making as if to follow him, but Sonny shook his head.

“And have my ma teleport from Staten Island to yell at me for being a poor host?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

So Lucia sat down at the table and watched as Sonny brought out more and more dishes, her eyes widening. “It’s a good thing I didn’t think to bring a centerpiece,” she said. “We wouldn’t have enough room.”

Rafael rolled his eyes as he sat down, followed by Sonny, who seemed to finally have run out of food to bring. “I told him he was making too much,” he said.

“And I told _you_ that the best part of Thanksgiving is the leftovers,” Sonny shot back. “Now, shall we pray?”

All three crossed themselves, reverting to the universal Catholic mumble as they intoned in unison, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Bless us O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Lucia smiled at Sonny. “Everything here looks absolutely delicious,” she said, taking a portion of each dish as they were passed around the table. “I am particularly grateful on this Thanksgiving that Rafael managed to win the affection of such a wonderful cook. I can’t believe you made all of this yourself!”

“I helped,” Rafael grumbled.

Lucia gave him a horrified look. “I certainly hope not.”

Sonny snickered. “Don't worry,” he assured her. “Rafael wasn't even allowed to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Lucia sighed. “I was going to ask what dish he had touched so I knew not to eat it.”

Now Sonny snorted with laughter and Rafael gave him a scathing look. “You're my boyfriend, you’re supposed to be on my side,” he hissed.

“Sorry, babe, I'm on the side of truth and your ma has a point.” Sonny shrugged, clearly unconcerned with the look Rafael was giving him. “I let you pick out the wine, if that makes you feel any better.”

It was Lucia’s turn to laugh and Rafael glared at her. “And _you_ ,” he seethed. “You're my _mother_ , I thought you were supposed to love me unconditionally.”

“Love you, yes,” Lucia said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Get food poisoning on behalf of your pride, not so much.”

Sonny and Lucia both laughed and Rafael glowered at the turkey. “And I’m somehow supposed to be _thankful_ for this,” he grumbled.

“Ah, c’mon,” Sonny said, still laughing, and he reached out to grab Rafael’s hand. “If you want, I’ll let you make something to bring to my ma’s for Christmas.”

“Really?” Rafael asked, surprised.

“Are you sure?” Lucia asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing that for her son’s many talents, culinary skills ranked somewhere at the bottom.

Sonny winked at her. “Oh, sure,” he said. “But the only one allowed to eat it will be Gina’s new boyfriend, since we’re all hoping he doesn’t stick around anyway.”

Lucia laughed again and Rafael rolled his eyes, though even he couldn’t help but smile, just a little. “I should be offended,” he said, with no real heat.

Sonny raised Rafael’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Should be?” he teased.

“Yeah,” Rafael said, still smiling.

“Are you feeling thankful instead?” Sonny asked, too innocently to be genuine.

Rafael glared at him and pulled his hand away to pick up his knife and fork. “Don’t press your luck.”

As Sonny laughed and both men tucked in, Lucia couldn’t help but look at both of them, at her little family, surrounded by food, and laughter, and love, and feel utterly thankful for everything in her life that had brought her here.

Even if Sonny had used the wrong kind of potatoes for the Boniatillo.

She was thankful for that, as well.


End file.
